


Be My Romeo

by skyline



Category: Big Time Rush
Genre: Harvestfest, M/M, Voyeurism, creepy serial killer voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-09 07:57:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyline/pseuds/skyline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is all mixed up now. Carlos dreams about girls, but he also dreams about his friends, about the piston pump of James’s hips and that stupid-sexy grin of Kendall’s and the way Logan’s skin looks coated in a sheen of sweat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be My Romeo

**Author's Note:**

> This was my Harvestfest fill! My prompt: This is vague, but...an analyzation of how they are in bed. Not just how they are, but who they are. Carlos is sweet and tender. James is passionate and intense. Logan is (not so) surprisingly aggressive, maybe even into role playing. Kendall is dominant but also very focused on the other person's pleasure, because he's a giver. These are bad examples okay, but basically their personalities give insight as to who they are sexually, and that's what I want to read.
> 
> Except I am completely incapable of following a prompt, apparently? This does not analyze anything, guys. Mega thanks to breila_rose for giving me a quick beta, on Christmas Eve, no less. There are probably still quite a few errors; this went through a POV change and I didn't get to go over it with my usual finesse...Um. I'm going to go hide now.

They all hear about it when James, predictably, loses his virginity before the rest of them.  
  
And they keep on hearing about it, because girls flock to James in droves. It is natural progression when, fourteen and stupid, the guys decide to spy. James is the only freshman guy in their entire class who actively gets tail, and he’s their best friend. They’ve got to get something out of it other than free Brooke Diamond deep conditioning samples and the lingering smell of manspray.  
  
That’s what Kendall reasons, anyway. Logan’s the one who actually came up with the idea, but Kendall’s all about the implementation. On a Friday night, Kendall, Logan, and Carlos end up donning black cat-suits and prowling after James and his latest date like maybe then can steal some of his sexual know-how off into the night.  
  
At first, everything about what they’re doing is funny. James pays for his date’s tickets and they make cracks about chivalry from their hiding spot halfway down the line. He folds his arm around his girl’s shoulders in the movie theater, and the guys joke about how _smooth_ he is. They split their focus between the sappy chick flick up on the screen and the not-so-subtle moves James is putting on his flavor-of-the-week. Logan is more interested in the pocket edition of Webster’s Dictionary he dragged along for the ride, and Kendall’s busy texting back and forth with Katie about whether she’s actually allowed to have ice cream for dinner.  
  
Carlos is the only one who’s keeping an eye on the action, and it’s hard to be enthusiastic about James’s diatribe on hair products when there’s a pretty girl on the silver screen in the midst of getting her heart broken. He can’t really see much through his misty eyes.  
  
It’s when James starts licking the butter off the girl’s fingertips that the mood changes, gets heavier, somehow, with the weight of all three boys’ suddenly undivided attention. At first they jostle each other, elbows to ribs and slaps on knees and coy, boyish high fives.  
  
When the actual kissing starts, the clamor has died down. Carlos’s vision is completely clear now, eyes wide, sunken low in his seat as James’s tongue learns the contour of that pretty girl’s mouth.  
  
Logan’s on edge, tapping his feet against the ground like his jeans are on too tight.  
  
And Kendall is hypnotized, fingers fisted into the denim of his jeans, palms sweaty. By the time the movie’s over, it feels less like they’re playing at James Bond and more like serious business, like they’re on a real mission.  
  
James takes his date back to his house, and Carlos is caught between disappointment and relief because no way are they going to follow James into the sanctuary of his bedroom, even knowing where the key is hidden beneath the mat. Carlos gives this short, breathy laugh, and he can practically see Kendall’s heartbeat slow in his chest, liberated from the tendrils of guilt that began to plague him right around the time James’s hand slipped up under his date’s bra at the theater.  The two of them turn, ready to troop down James’s porch in defeat, secretly appeased that they can still pretend they haven’t done anything wrong, that they still somehow qualify as _normal boys_. But Logan, with a catch in his voice, ruins the illusion. He says, “Wait, look.”  
  
Kendall stumbles back over the creaky porch until he’s pressed up against the window, Carlos’s head resting on his shoulder, Logan at his side. Their breath fogs the glass, but that’s the last thing on any of their minds.  
  
James has set the house ablaze, turning on every lamp and light fixture in the vicinity, and now he’s going at it with his date right in the middle of the living room floor. They can see the couple perfectly, in profile. She’s straddling James’s thighs, her short skirt rucked around her hips. In one easy movement, James pulls her shirt over her head, his fingers brushing soft over her abdomen. They watch her shiver, the air inside the Diamond house cold against her skin. James pulls down one of the straps of her bra and kisses her newly exposed shoulder and then tracking across, his mouth touching against the swell of her breast where none of the guys can quite see.  
  
Logan tries to press in through the window, like it’s not even there. His boot squeaks against the porch.  
  
“Shh,” Kendall hisses, flapping his hand in the air and barely missing Carlos’s nose.  
  
James is talking to her, saying something that none of them can quite make out. It almost looks like he’s trying to convince her to keep her skirt on, like he wants nothing more than to fuck her with the flutter of plaid moving over his skin. But that can’t be it, because seconds later the girl is sliding out of her underwear and-  
  
“Shit,” Carlos hisses, almost to himself. This they can see perfectly; the hard lines of James’s back and the shift of his muscles through the thin fabric of his white v-neck, the strain in his neck when he arches forward. Carlos can’t quite make out the flick of his tongue, but he can see the girl’s fingers twisted in his hair and the flex of her thighs and occasionally a wet, pink flash beneath her skirt and fuck.  
  
It’s freezing outside, but Carlos is unbearably hard, and fuck, fuck, _fuck_. Kendall’s repeating it to himself under his breath, like a mantra, and Logan hasn’t blinked even once in the past few minutes, and without even meaning to Carlos is pressing into Kendall’s hips, completely turned on. He’s embarrassed, immediately red, but when he tries to move away Kendall whispers, “It’s okay.”  
  
Carlos doesn’t know if he means his very obvious arousal or the fact that they’re watching their best friend go down on a girl, but he doesn’t move, dick thickening in his jeans. James does something that involves his head tilting, his bicep tightening as his fingers move forward and the girl actually moans, loud enough that they can hear it even on the relative safety of the porch, and _fuck_.  
  
They so should not be doing this. There’s something inherently creepy about it, but it’s kind of hard to feel creepy when he’s got his best friends at his side, every bit as into it as he is.  
  
The trees shiver, shaken by the wind, or maybe it’s just Carlos who is trembling all over.  
  
James’s date moans loud, and Carlos thinks _thank god, it’s over_ , but then James is kissing her thigh and straightening up, and Carlos is holding his breath, he is, because James is shucking his own shirt and sliding his jeans the rest of the way down his slim hips. James’s mouth is red and shiny with spit and something else, something that makes Carlos licks his own lips even though he has no idea what a girl tastes like. Out of the corner of his eyes he can see Logan and Kendall do the same thing, and it makes him feel less lame, less like this is a humiliating experiment in voyeurism and more like this is a class project, like this is something they’re all learning together.  
  
And then Carlos can see James, the shape and the width and the girth of his cock, the places it is red with want. The girl’s fingers twine into James’s hair and she pulls him down, into her. Kendall’s breathing goes harsh, rasping through the air and making it hard to see through the window. Carlos reaches past him, smearing the condensation away.  
  
James’s eyes flick up for a second, but he doesn’t look like he can see them, or anything, really, past the veil of his own lust. Carlos swallows thickly.  
  
“He’s really…” Kendall says, reverent. The phrase at the end of that sentence could be _going to do this_ , _going through with it_ , but it could just as easily be a single word _; beautiful_.  
  
Logan nods his head frantically, “Yeah.”  
  
At first James isn’t even fucking the girl; he’s just teasing her with the head of his cock, dipping in a little and then withdrawing, getting his dick wet with a combination of the girl and his own saliva. Carlos knows he wouldn’t have that kind of self-control if their positions were reversed. James pulls at his date’s hair and her head falls back, her throat exposed. He licks a long stripe, this glistening wet thing that Carlos can see clear as day because it catches the light, glows golden like James’s just trailed stardust along the girl’s skin. His hips finally twitch forward, the girl clawing at his back, trying to hold him there, and he concedes for a second, buried inside her while Carlos and Logan and Kendall watch the flex of his ass. Then he’s moving again, pumping forward and back while the girl’s slender ankles clutch at him.  
  
It’s insane. Stuff this hot does not happen to Carlos Garcia. Except it does, it is, and it’s better than any porno flick he’s ever seen. James is the consummate performer. He doesn’t turn that off in the bedroom, or the living room, not even for an audience of one.  
  
When it’s over, they stand there, red faced, but not very ashamed. Kendall’s obviously wondering if he can get away with palming a hand over the tent in his jeans while Logan can’t tear his eyes away from the girl’s boobs, his dick an insistent press against his hip. Carlos is the only one of them panged by mild regret, a wet spot making his boxers feel clammy and uncomfortable.  
  
They walk home in silence, too caught up in the image of James and his anonymous date to make anything like conversation. But when Carlos stumbles over an icy patch, Logan steadies him with a hand at his waist, and Kendall’s got an arm around his shoulder, pulling Carlos in tight to his side.  
  
The air is still frigid, and the closeness is warm, so even after Carlos finds his footing, they stay that way, huddled together against the night for the whole way home.

\---

  
Turns out, all the intrigue wasn’t even necessary.  
  
James performs best with an audience.

\---

  
They’re at the lunch table on Monday afternoon, having a completely normal conversation until Kendall, out of the blue, tells James, “You’ve got something right there,” and reaches out, thumbing at the corner of James’s lips. His finger lingers there for a beat, and as the moment stretches on, Carlos thinks of James licking popcorn butter off that girl’s fingers a few nights before.  
  
He’s pretty sure Kendall’s thinking of the same thing, and Logan too. They’ve all got this semi-dazed look in their eyes, and maybe that’s why James chooses right then to say, “So. You guys followed me home the other night.”  
  
James picks the olives off of his pizza and pops them into his mouth, lips smacking together, and all Carlos can think of is what those lips were doing on Friday. He can still see it; this crystal clear image of James’s mouth wetredslipperywith-  
  
“Carlos? You okay?” James asks, sounding genuinely curious.  
  
Carlos nods so vigorously he actually makes the whole table shake.  
  
James meets each of their eyes in turn, his expression serious, hypnotic. “Really, guys. If you wanted to watch, you should have just asked.”  
  
And that’s how it happens.  
  
They’re no longer just childhood best friends. They’re something more, tied by a secret, by lust, by love.

  


\---

  
It is kind of a surprise when Logan gets his cherry popped second, and by a teacher, no less. But the when and the who of Logan’s deflowering aren’t nearly as shocking as all the subsequent times the guys find him naked and handcuffed to his own headboard.  
  
It's absolutely unsettling, because Carlos doesn’t know how many of those times involve other people and how many are private moments with cold steel and his own hand. Logan is apparently a kinky little bastard.  
  
He’s the one who actually suggests that maybe they make that one-off _watching thing_ into an actual hobby…thing. And it’s great at first. Logan lets Kendall, Carlos, and James watch whenever he gets with a girl (which isn’t often), and James lets Carlos, Kendall, and Logan watch when he feels like it (which happens more frequently than not). It’s disturbing.  
  
It’s also ridiculously gratifying.  
  
But as the months wear on, their dynamic goes all skewed.  
  
Since they were small, Kendall has been the one forging new paths, with James at his heels, and Carlos and Logan bringing up the rear. Logan is always cautious while Carlos is always wild, and okay, yeah, Carlos can admit that he’s annoyed that Logan had to go and get his sex on first. Logan is supposed to be dull and boring and completely inexperienced. He’s supposed to be one of the sidekicks, just like Carlos, but somehow now Carlos is the only one stuck in an in between place; not brave enough to be the leader or bang a girl.  
  
And Kendall? Isn’t forging anything at all.  
  
When Kendall finally, finally does give it up, he’s caught somewhere between hopeless romanticism and the candlelight of his first real relationship. He goes all out; rose petals and sweetness. Not that he tells Carlos, James, or Logan that.  
  
In fact, he refuses to talk about it at all, but his girlfriend’s got one of the biggest mouths in school. And in the telling, one thing becomes really, clearly evident.  
  
Kendall is a total boy scout. He likes it lights out, missionary style; the same thing every time. It takes three months before his first girlfriend dumps him for being _too vanilla_.  
  
The guys try to talk him into some very public rebound sex, but Kendall won’t have anything to do with it.  
  
“Do it in the car. We’ll sit in the tree house, and we’ll be able to see through the sunroof.” Logan spins around in Mrs. Knight’s computer chair, obviously delighted by the idea. He is such an undercover perv.  
  
“What? No. I’m not going to-“ Kendall says, flustered. He’s sprawled on the couch, most of his words mumbled into the fabric of a pillow. Carlos pats his back, torn between sympathy and how enchanted he is by the idea.  
  
Day to day, Kendall thinks he can do it all. He’s confrontational. On the ice, he likes to get up into other players’ personal space until he’s the only thing they can see. It’s not hard to imagine what he’d be like in bed if he was really unleashed; to have all that single-minded focus trained straight on…on someone, Carlos thinks.  
  
“Turnabout is fair play,” Logan points out, rubbing his hands together, and he’s watching Kendall like maybe he’s imagining what he’ll look like naked.  
  
Carlos may have imagined that once or twice or twenty times. It’s natural; he’s seen James and Logan in all their naked glory over and over again, but with the exception of the locker rooms, Carlos has never seen Kendall strip down, and locker room nudity is not exactly the same thing.  
  
He feels like maybe that should worry him; that Carlos doesn’t know what it is that he wants anymore. If it’s the soft curves and candy apple lips of a pretty girl or the hard lines of his friends’ bodies.  
  
“Don’t be such a prude,” James throws in, and Kendall makes a face.  
  
“I’m not a prude.”  
  
“You kind of are. Girls don’t want a white knight in bed, dude,” James tells him matter-of-factly. He’s lording his experience over Kendall and very obviously enjoying it. “Let me take you into my parlor. I’ll teach you how to do this right.”  
  
“The parlor? James, that’s my kitchen.”  
  
“And now it’s also my parlor. Do you want to learn, or don’t you?”  
  
“Why can’t you say whatever it is in front of Logan and Carlos?” Kendall whines.  
  
“They’re not ready.”  
  
“I’m ready!” Logan protests. “I’m up for anything.”  
  
And god, Carlos knows that now. He knows that there is very, very little that Logan will turn down; it’s like his sexuality has no limits or boundaries, and Carlos is used to being the one who takes crazy risks out in the real world, but he’s not sure how he feels about all the things that go on in Logan’s bedroom.  
  
It makes him nervous, maybe, because Carlos isn’t exactly sure what he’s going to be like in the sack, if he ever gets around to getting into a girl’s pants. If he will be strong or gentle or kinky or vanilla or if he will even be any good. Will he better than Logan, with his handcuffs and frosting and sex toys and chains?  
  
James rolls his eyes.  
  
“Just come already.” James grabs hold of Kendall, dragging him into the kitchen.  
  
They’re in there a long time. Carlos doesn’t know what exactly James ends up instructing Kendall on, exactly, but he knows that the exchange a lot of meaningful looks he doesn’t understand afterwards.  
  
Even though sex has become something they all share, Carlos still feels like there are things he doesn’t understand.

  


\---

  
California is supposed to be a game changer, but it doesn’t actually change anything. They’re up in each other’s faces all the freaking time, and it’s kind of hard for Carlos to forget about all the times he’s seen Logan or James naked when he has to share living space with them, when he has to listen to all three of his three best friends bring themselves off in the still of the night in muted moans and the rustle of sheets.  
  
James, Logan, and Kendall; always intersecting, always fighting, touching, harmonizing like the earth and the sky and the sea.  
  
Carlos resents them, sometimes.

\---

  
It’s raining out. Not even real rain, but these wimpy showers that have been coming and going all day, like the sky is too indecisive to choose between the light and the darkness, the dry heat and the damp. Every time Carlos steps foot outside, he ends up getting soaked through in seconds, the taste of the California atmosphere bitter on his lips; something like sun and ash settling on his tongue. So now he’s stranded, stuck playing a video game with James while Kendall outlines his latest battle strategy in the never-ending fight with Gustavo. He sits on the back of the couch, his legs settled against Carlos’s shoulder and James’s thigh, ticking off points of contention on his fingers.  
  
They’re all really, really bored.  
  
That’s about when Camille barges into the apartment, Logan trailing behind her like a little lost puppy. He’d probably like it if one of them bought him a leash.  
  
Carlos’s eyes flutter closed at the idea of it, at the concept of Logan bound, naked and writhing and doing whatever Carlos could think up. He misses James shoot his character in the head, but it’s almost worth it.  
  
Logan stops in front of them and announces, “ and I are going into my room,” like it wasn’t already obvious. Carlos doesn’t get the point of the PSA, but James and Kendall have sort of perked up, and Logan keeps doing this widening thing with his eyes that makes him look a lot like a baby doe.  
  
“Catch my drift?” Logan asks, and California has really done a number on him; he never used to say dumb shit like _catch my drift_ , but Carlos sort of does.  
  
Catch his drift, that is.  
  
Behind Logan, Camille’s eyes narrow, but her smile still sparkles like the raindrops on the windows, and she’s a combination of lovely and crazy and sharp edged that Carlos has never been able to wrap his head around. She’s probably going to murder them if she ever finds out what Logan’s got them doing, but it will be worth it just to see what she’s like in action.  
  
That’s what’s got them cracking the door to the room that Kendall and Logan share, piled one on top of another just so that they can see through the tiny slit of space they’ve made. Camille and Logan are already well into it, this aggressive play of their lips and press of their hips that makes Carlos feel immediately hot all over.  
  
Logan’s a smart kid, and he knows what he wants. He’s all impish smiles and the complete satisfaction of know what’s going to come of this. It’s not long before clothes start coming off. His hands settle over Camille’s waist, pressing into her hips, pressing her down into his own lap. Camille reaches back and begins unhooking her bra, and then;  
  
“If you guys are going to watch, could you at least come into the room? Creepers.”  
  
James narrows his eyes in a look that could be interest or it could be a warning. Sometimes it’s hard to tell with him. Kendall’s face is a furious red, and Carlos feels like maybe his body is burning up from the inside with shame, but the three of them stumble inside of the bedroom.  
  
“It’s not alright to spy,” Camille tells them, still sitting in Logan’s lap. He doesn’t even seem to care that they’re being chastised like little boys, peppering kisses across her cleavage. Camille arches into it, lips parting, and then she says, “But you can stay and watch.”  
  
Carlos rewinds the words over and over in his head. Did she actually just say what he thinks she just said?  
  
“You can even-“ Camille pauses, because Logan’s fingers are working beneath her underwear, and this is ridiculous; Carlos has never felt more uncomfortable or turned on in the entirety of his life. “-join in,” she gasps.  
  
What?  
  
No, but. Carlos blinks. _What?_  
  
James doesn’t need more than that simple invitation. He’s across the room in three steps, kissing the crook of Camille’s neck, his hands cupping her breasts and then smoothing down across her thighs. He’s showing off, because he always does; James likes an audience. It doesn’t even have to be other people; set up a couple of mirrors and he’s ready to go, fractured kaleidoscope images of skin reflecting back at him while he fucks or gets fucked. Because that’s happened once or twice, and it always makes Carlos’s skin feel tight thinking about it, about two boys tangled together and-.  
  
Camille’s panties hit Carlos dead in the face, and he didn’t even realize that she and Logan were already getting to the good part. He tries to focus on something other than the muscles strained in the back of James’s neck and the flex of Logan’s abdominal muscles, and the way that Kendall is frozen beside Carlos, not even breathing.  
  
Their eyes are the spotlight and Logan is into it, he’s so fucking into getting off while they watch. Over Camille’s shoulder, his eyes lock with Carlos’s. This thing stretches between them, taffy thick, where Carlos feels like every thrust of Logan’s hips has a direct connection to the golden pool of heat in his stomach, like Camille and James don’t even stand between them, and then Logan breaks eye contact, with a sharp jerk of his head.  
  
It’s only when Carlos feels a hand palm across his pants that he realizes that jerk was a nod; that Logan was signaling something, and that something is Kendall’s hand on the front of his jeans.  
  
“It’s okay, right?” Kendall asks, breathing hot on the shell of his ear, and Carlos nods, fervently, because he can’t actually think of anything more okay in the entire world.  
  
This is something new; they don’t ever touch each other, but Kendall is. His fingertips dance around Carlos’s dick, pressing the air out of Carlos’s lungs and making him tremble all over, like he’s still a fourteen year old kid rutting up against Kendall’s back on James’s freezing front porch. James and Camille are sharing a messy kiss even while she rides Logan, James’s hands cupped around her breasts, and Carlos can’t even pay attention to that because he’s got Kendall’s breath on his neck and Kendall’s hand in his pants and when he comes this time it is not a messy stain inside of his jeans but a spill across Kendall’s knuckles and liquid heat in his veins and blacked out vision.  
  
\---  
  
It’s not always about sex. There is singing and friendship; lazy days where they study or bicker or just bask in each other’s company. There are movie nights where they pile together on the couch, where Logan slides his fingers along Kendall’s neck, dancing over the dip in his clavicle, less a pat on the shoulder than an actual caress, and they all pretend that is normal. There are days in the pool where James and Logan’s bodies slide together, slick with chlorine and sweat and water while the wrestle in the depths, bodies pressed too close to ever pretend it’s normal. There are nights where Logan curls himself into Carlos’s bed, nights where Carlos thinks about being handcuffed or covered in frosting or-  
  
No.  
  
Everything is all mixed up now. Carlos dreams about girls, but he also dreams about his friends, about the piston pump of James’s hips and that stupid-sexy grin of Kendall’s and the way Logan’s skin looks coated in a sheen of sweat. And he knows that they feel the same way; he’s caught Kendall watching Logan’s mouth or James staring at Kendall’s ass appreciatively. He’s seen Logan watching him in this speculative way, and it is equal parts discomfort and interest living inside of his chest.  
  
On a Monday morning, Carlos watches Kendall argue with Katie, hands flying in the air and he remembers the shape of his knuckles as his hand moved around him.  
  
“Thinking dirty thoughts?” James whispers in Carlos’s ear, and he shivers. He can’t help it.  
  
“No,” he lies, staring down at his cereal, but he’s flustered, and it’s obvious.  
  
“I don’t believe you,” James decides, pressing his front into Carlos’s back until there’s no space at all left between them.  
  
“You’re heavy,” Carlos says.  
  
“You like it,” James replies, and Carlos does; he likes the weight of James against him, so he doesn’t argue.

 

\---

  
Carlos has his first kiss with a pretty resident of the Palmwoods, a girl with light and laughter shining beneath her skin. He’s helping her run some lines for a TV pilot, coffee balanced between his knees and hers clutched in her hand; friendship and warmth swimming between them.  
  
The kiss is totally sporadic. Carlos doesn’t even see it coming, but it’s really, really great. It is. He likes this girl a whole hell of a lot; she smells like tropical fruit and her mouth tastes like caramel coffee. It should be amazing.  
  
Except-  
  
He’s trying to focus on her and her lips and her tongue, but he’s got these memories; white hot lighting thoughts of James and Logan kissing Camille, of Kendall’s hand on his dick. He end up cutting the kiss short and stumbling back to the apartment in a daze, wondering what the hell is wrong with him.  
  
And his friends help nothing. The second Carlos steps foot in 2J, James says, “What’s wrong, buddy?” Without waiting for an answer, James barrels on, “You know what would wipe that frown on your face? A girl.”  
  
Doubtful.  
  
Carlos looks around for help, for someone to deviate James from his current trajectory, but Logan is nowhere to be found, and Kendall is sitting on the couch, flipping through some hockey magazine and ignoring them both.  
  
“Seriously, dude, how blue can your balls actually get?” James continues, completely oblivious to the fact that Carlos does not want to talk about this, not right now, not when he can still taste that actress-girl’s sweetness on his tongue.  
  
“James-“  
  
“I’ve got an entire phone book full of girls that will be happy to make you a man.” James actually pulls out his phone, flipping through the contact list.  
  
“That’s really not necessary.”  
  
“But-“  
  
The rustle of the magazine snapping shut heralds the arrival of the cavalry. Kendall’s eyes are narrow when he snaps, “Leave him alone. He’ll get with someone when he’s ready.”  
  
“Weren’t you the one who was trying to land him a date like, last week?” James counters.  
  
“That’s different.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“I knew nothing would happen.”  
  
“How could you possibly know that?” Carlos asks.  
  
Kendall blinks. “I screened the girls, didn’t I?”  
  
And then he buries his face back into his magazine, like the subject is closed.  
  
It so is not closed. James says as much, but Kendall comes back at him about how not everyone has to be a man whore like him, and that shuts him up pretty quick.  
  
Carlos has never seen James be anything but proud of his conquests, so he’s kind of confused. He wants to ask what’s going on, but then Kendall actually apologizes, and obviously this is a sign of the apocalypse, because the word sorry isn’t a frequent offender in Kendall’s vocabulary. James is every bit as flabbergasted by the _sorry_ as Carlos is, but they’re still not on even ground; Kendall has storm clouds in his gaze, a challenge that James accepts with a wintry expression. Carlos can already tell they’re not going to be on speaking terms for the rest of the day.  
  
When James bows out of the room, mumbling something about his hair, Kendall turns to Carlos and says, “James is ridiculous. He gives it up to anyone with a pulse. Don’t follow his example, man. It’s supposed to be romantic. When you kiss someone, you’re supposed to mean it.”  
  
He almost sounds bitter, venom in his words that Carlos feels like he can taste; lemon juice and something sharp and medicinal. “You’ll see one day.”  
  
“Why does it have to be one day? Why can’t it be now?”  
  
The words hang between them, filling all the empty space in the apartment. Kendall looks at Carlos like he’s never seen him before. “I don’t follow.”  
  
“Kiss me,” Carlos says, and he does not phrase it as a question. “Show me what it’s supposed to be like.”  
  
Kendall hesitates. “You don’t want that.”  
  
“I do though.” Carlos replies, thinking of the lobby and the pretty girl and how her mouth just wasn’t quite right. He thinks of Kendall’s hand on his cock and the way he was desperate, the way he would have done anything to feel Kendall’s lips on his in that moment. “I really, really want it.”  
  
Kendall reaches up and strokes his cheek, a warm press of fingertips that makes Carlos’s skin heat, like he can feel Kendall beneath the surface. Then Kendall’s hand drops away and he says, “I can’t. It wouldn’t be right.”  
  
Carlos is mad, anger and frustration and want swimming in his stomach, amalgamating into this overwhelming feeling that he can’t deal with. “Why not?”  
  
“Because I’m not going to be the one who pulls you any deeper into this clusterfuck, okay?” Kendall retorts. “What we’ve been doing isn’t right, and you know it.”  
  
He doesn’t actually look like he feels that way; the expression on Kendall’s lips is like someone has told him that hockey’s been barred from the Olympics. He is a plethora of mixed signals.  
  
Especially when, before he turns away, he presses a kiss to Carlos’s forehead.

  


\---

  
Kendall is still completely opposed to getting his freak on with anyone watching.  
  
Carlos gets that; Kendall’s a helpless romantic at his core, and he’s all about private expressions of love and honor and loyalty. And even aside from that, Carlos can understand why Kendall wouldn’t want anyone other than the girl he’s getting down with to rate his performance or critique his technique. He’s known how easy it is to embarrass Kendall since the first grade, when James accidentally on purpose told all the girls in class that Kendall still wet the bed.  
  
That week is marked in Carlos’s memory by James’s fresh black eye and the way Kendall couldn’t look a girl in the eye for months afterwards, even though James totally made it up because he was mad about Kendall getting picked over him for captain of their Peewee Hockey League.  
  
But even knowing all that, Kendall’s been in on this deal from the beginning. He should have expected that he was going to have to put on a show. It’s not fair that he keeps avoiding it.  
  
It’s not fair that Carlos keeps imagining what it’s like.  
  
Logan and Carlos try everything they can to track Kendall on dates, but he knows all their tricks; he’s slippery as an eel every time he hooks up with a new girl. For some reason James won’t help them out; he’s wholly uninterested in Kendall’s sex life even as he tries to land Logan and Carlos new girls. It makes zero sense.  
  
But nothing does, now.  
  
So eventually, Carlos is the one who comes up with the idea, and okay, maybe it’s a little creepy.  
  
Maybe it’s actually a lot creepy. But it’s not like he and Logan and James can get away with hiding in the closet; not with James’s ridiculously broad shoulders. A nanny cam is the obvious solution.  
  
Kendall and Jo go out on a date, _the_ date. The big one, according to James. Carlos doesn’t know how James knows; he wasn’t aware there was some kind of secret body language that indicated when a person was about to nail his girlfriend, but when he tells James that, James just retorts that he’s not exactly observant.  
  
Carlos privately thinks Kendall told James, and James just doesn’t want him or Logan to know, and that’s okay. Secrets aren’t his favorite thing in the world, but everyone’s allowed to have one or two. And the plan is going fine; Jo and Kendall come home from their date and immediately start getting hot and heavy while James and Logan and Carlos watch from the relatively safety of the bedroom that James and Carlos share. On the computer hookup Logan’s got rigged with the camera, Kendall and Jo are all over each other, so desperate for it that Carlos remembers that talk James had with Kendall years ago. He wonders if James did manage to teach Kendall that it doesn’t always have to be some beautiful, emotional, expressionist process; that sometimes sex is dirty and rhythm-less and it is still completely satisfying.  
  
“This was such a great idea.” Logan beams at Carlos, squeezing low on his knee, and Carlos basks in the attention. On screen, Jo swivels her hips, grinding down on Kendall like they’re in the middle of a dance, like they’re in a crowded club instead of the dim light of Kendall’s bedroom.  
  
Then things take a wrong turn.  
  
Kendall turns directly towards the camera, and he must see something; a red light out of the corner of his eye or _something_ , because he blanches.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Jo asks, her lips barely an inch away from his. The grainy footage isn’t wonderful, but it’s good enough that Carlos can see the deep black darkness edging Kendall’s pupils, whittling away at mossy green iris until there is nothing left but lust. He’s thinking about lying; Carlos can tell. But Jo’s up in his space, confronting him, and Kendall has never, even drone well with that. He’s breathing hard, obviously torn between the inherent wrongness of his friends watching this whole thing and the very real way Jo’s breath is hot on his lips.  
  
“What if I told you there was a camera in here?” Kendall asks quietly, barely restrained anger and desire mingling in his voice, forming a razor sharp edge. Jo glances around, calculating, until her gaze lands on the teddy bear where Carlos hid the camera.  
  
He totally thought it was subtle.  
  
“Your mom?” She asks.  
  
“The guys. They’re idiots.” Kendall responds, and from the way his eyes narrow, Carlos is certain that he’s going to murder him for cockblocking his big date with Jo.  
  
Except Jo does not run screaming from the room. She smiles, bright enough to light up the entire room. “I’d say let’s give them a show.”  
  
Carlos thinks he sees Kendall’s hands shake, but looking at his face he’d never be able to tell; Kendall is really good at faking brave. He presses a kiss to her lips and mumbles, “Are you sure?”  
  
“Positive,” Jo tips a finger under his chin, her skin glowing, radiant in the weird camera light. It’s obvious that Kendall wants her; he wants to drown in the warmth of her eyes and the heat of her that he can probably feel even through the denim of their jeans. He kneads his fingers into her thighs, curving them inwards, closer to her ass and it makes her push forward, kissing him harder, her lips a hot bruise against his.  
  
Jo pops the button on his jeans, and her hands infinitely surer than Kendall’s are capable of being. She lets Kendall tug off her shirt and her bra, and then they can see _everything._  
  
Carlos glances towards James and Logan, like _damn_ , but neither of them is paying attention to him. Logan’s eyes are glued to the grainy footage, one hand already sneaking into his pants; sure, quick strokes, and James’s fingers are fisted in the pockets of his jeans, an eerie parody of Kendall at the movie theater that one time. He’s watching the screen like he wants to punch it, somewhere between aroused and pissed off.  
  
“Dude, are you okay?” Carlos asks, because it’s actually kind of distracting; his anger is so big it takes over the entire room. James doesn’t answer; just shakes his head and fists his fingers some more, and just when Carlos is about to go back to watching Kendall and Jo and the wonderful, crazy thing that is about to go down, he feels a mouth on his, wet and hot.  
  
It’s James, James with his lips and his tongue and he’s good at this, he’s good at making Carlos moan with need but it’s _wrong_. He can feel James pressing into his hip, can feel how into it he is; how much he likes watching Kendall and Jo get undressed on their flatscreen TV, even as he hates it, and that just makes it worse. James doesn’t actually want this. He doesn’t actually want _Carlos_. He can’t, because if he did he wouldn’t look so mad.  
  
Carlos shoves James away, “What the hell, dude?”  
  
He doesn’t intend for his words to sound harsh, and he absolutely doesn’t mean for hurt to flicker over James’s face like he just told him to _fuck off_. “James, no, sorry, that’s not what I…”  
  
On screen, Kendall is thumbing over Jo’s nipple, fascinated by the noise she makes, by the soft skin of her aureole and the way it turns taut beneath his fingers. But in the privacy of the room, James is completely ignoring Carlos’s rejection. He’s already turned to Logan and is asking, “Are you going to pussy out on me?”  
  
And slow-like, Logan shakes his head, because he’s up for anything, of course he is. Carlos thinks about getting angry, about leaving, but James doesn’t even seem to care about what he’s done. His mouth is on Logan’s, now, and Kendall is inching Jo’s jeans and panties down her hips and James’s tongue is in Logan’s mouth, but his eyes are wide open. He’s watching the screen like maybe it’s a challenge, like maybe Kendall can watch him back. But Kendall doesn’t look like he’s thinking about James or Logan or Carlos; just Jo and the lovely shape of her body and the press of her skin against his fingertips. Kendall is watching her like she is a goddess, and all the things that James has taught him must have flown right out of his head, because his movements are turning gentle and sweet, and there is nothing at all kinky about the way he pulls her into him, except for their eyes watching him.  
  
Jo loops her arms around Kendall’s neck and sinks down with a sigh, and all the while Kendall’s gaze is locked on her eyes like they are magnetic, like he can’t look away, even if he tries. He is completely focused on the tight, wet heat of Jo and the way she moves tauntingly slow over him.  
  
Carlos can’t remember Kendall ever looking at any of them like that, and it makes his stomach feel a little bit queasy. Maybe this is why James is so mad. But Carlos doesn’t care; he’s pissed at James for trying to use him, and he’s pissed at Logan for taking James up on his offer, for the noises that Logan is making that send shivers down Carlos’s spine, and he’s pissed at Kendall too. He watches the way Jo’s back curves as she fucks herself on Kendall’s dick, sinuous, like she’s got no bones. Every time she buoys up, Carlos can see flashes of Kendall’s cock; how hard he is for her, for what she’s doing to him, and yeah. Carlos is mad.  
  
Jo’s thighs squeeze at Kendall’s hips, her tongue darting out to wet at his mouth. She says, “Fuck, Kendall, faster,” and her hand creeps down between them, rubbing herself or Kendall, or the both of them. Kendall flips Jo, even though it’s vanilla or military or whatever; he doesn’t even seem to care because now he can move, now he can go faster and harder and watch Jo’s eyes while he pumps into her. He’s got an elbow propped over her shoulder and another braced against her side, and every thrust of her hips actually moves Jo against the mattress, makes the headboard hit the wall with a screech Carlos can hear even without the video camera. He’s moaning, but James and Logan are noisy too, and their voices are all mingling together like a song.  
  
There is a rustle behind him and Carlos can’t, won’t look to see if that was actually a pair of jeans falling on the floor. He resolutely watches the place where Kendall’s fingertips press into the skin of Jo’s hip and tries not to think about how this thing, this weird, crazy, kinky thing of theirs that brought them so much closer together is slowly beginning to drive them apart.  
  
Carlos stays in the room until Kendall buries his face in Jo’s collarbone, his entire body stiffening as he comes, and then he runs.  
  
From the room.  
  
From 2J.  
  
From the Palmwoods.  
  
He runs until he’s standing on a busy street in the middle of Hollywood, blaring car horns and blinking traffic lights and a pulse of sound all around him, drowning ever single horrible thought that’s racing through his head.

  


\---

  
Friendships like theirs don’t end; they change and they bend and maybe they drift away from each other at some points in their lives, but they will always bounce back. They will always go on and on and on into eternity.  
  
That’s what Carlos has always thought.  
  
Until now.  
  
James isn’t talking to Kendall.  
  
Carlos isn’t talking to James.  
  
Kendall’s spending most of his time locked up with Jo,  
  
Carlos asks Logan what’s going on, because Logan is smart, and there’s no way that he missed the tension in the apartment. But Logan just leaps to James’s defense, because he always takes James’s side, and mostly it makes Carlos like James a little less. He didn’t ask Logan who was right and who was wrong. He asked for the story, for a fair recounting of what’s happening that Carlos can’t quite see. And Logan’s very obvious bias makes Carlos think that nothing is fair at all. He pouts and announces, “A girl kissed me a few weeks ago.”  
  
“What?” Logan’s head snaps up, suddenly all focus. “Why didn’t you say something?”  
  
He sounds hurt. They always tell each other everything.  
  
“You were busy,” Carlos mutters.  
  
Logan’s eyes widen, his eyes going dark, his lips thinning. “I’m never too busy for you, dude.”  
  
“Could have fooled me.”  
  
“Do you really want to argue right now?”  
  
“No,” Carlos concedes.  
  
“Okay then.” Logan scowls at his shoes. He doesn’t seem to be all that happy that Carlos is _becoming a man_. Maybe Carlos should have told James. “Um. How was it?”  
  
“She kissed me, and I thought about you guys,” Carlos replies, frank as he can be.  
  
Logan’s sucks in a breath, and Carlos follows the movement because Logan has such pretty lips. “What about us?”  
  
“Just. Wouldn’t it be better if we stopped kissing girls and started kissing each other?”  
  
And maybe he means Logan specifically, or maybe he means all of the guys. Carlos isn’t sure. He’s all mixed up inside, emotions blended so that he can’t separate the want and need and love. He doesn’t think that he’d mind Kendall and James being in on the action; then James could stop looking at Kendall like he’s the only star in the sky and Logan could stop watching James like he’s the center of the world, and maybe Carlos could stop feeling like Logan is leaving him behind.  
  
If Kendall’s been looking at anybody, Carlos hasn’t noticed it, but that’s mostly because he’s always got Kendall’s attention; ever since they were little kids, and he’s positive that Kendall wouldn’t mind kissing any of them. They could all just…share.  
  
It’s a crazy idea, but to Carlos, it makes perfect sense. They share everything that’s important; hockey, singing, everything. Maybe not girls, because that would be weird, but why not lovers? Why not each other? They already trade time and energy and love. Adding their bodies into the mix? It’s the most organic thing in the world.  
  
“Carlos, you-“ Logan’s mouth falls open, and Carlos can think of plenty of things that could occupy that red-pink space between his tongue and his teeth. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”  
  
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Carlos shrugs. Logan pets him on the head and doesn’t answer.  
  
What he does do is kiss Carlos. It’s a quick press of his mouth that’s over before it’s even really started, but it still makes Carlos’s pulse race too fast in his veins and sends his head spinning. He’s dizzy with the taste of Logan on his lips.  
  
Logan, who is smiling now; open and honest and sweet.  
  
“What was that for?” Carlos asks, dazed.  
  
“Being so smart.”  
  
“But…what did I say again?”  
  
Logan laughs, hair catching the light and throwing back red-gold-orange instead of the usual brown, like maybe he is made of summer. “You’ll see.”

\---

  
Carlos waits, and waits, and waits, but he doesn’t actually see anything at all happen until three weeks after Jo’s flown halfway across the world.  
  
Patience isn’t exactly his forte, and for the most part, Carlos has forgotten that he even brought up the subject of _sharing_ with Logan, figuring it was dumb. He has not forgotten the way that Logan kissed him. Hoping it might happen again has become a regular pastime of Carlos’s, like corn dogs and farting contests.  
  
The night that the subject gets brought up again, they’re all piled on the couch, watching a movie. Carlos is lying across Logan, James, and Kendall’s laps like they’re actual fixtures on the couch, his face buried in Logan’s thigh because the movie is kind of scary.  
  
A serial killer is just about to off someone in a hail of bloody gore when Kendall tugs at the leg of Carlos’s jeans and says, “Logan told us what you talked about.”  
  
Carlos blinks, turning his head so he can see Logan’s serious business face. He screws up his mouth in concentration and then asks, “World domination?”  
  
Logan flicks him on the forehead. “Not this morning, doofus. A few months ago.”  
  
Carlos frowns. How is he even supposed to remember back that far?  
  
Patiently, Logan continues, “When you said we should all just kiss each other?”  
  
Oh. Carlos can feel heat all the way down to his toes; unexpected mortification. He hisses, “You told them?”  
  
“I thought you wanted me to,” Logan says, and he looks confused.  
  
James kneads a hand against Carlos’s thigh. He murmurs, “Don’t freak out, dude.”  
  
Carlos is really, really trying not to freak, but he feels a little bit ganged up on, like the guys are about to laugh at him. Maybe he was serious when he told Logan, but he doesn’t feel so sure of his idea now.  
  
“Really, _don’t_ ,” James repeats.  
  
“It’s okay,” Logan strokes a hand through Carlos’s hair, and despite himself, Carlos arches into his touch.  
  
“It’s a good idea,” Kendall says, and _what_? Kendall is advocating this now?  
  
Carlos can feel Logan’s fingertips on his scalp, can feel Kendall’s familiar, clever hands on his leg, and James’s drumming against his side, and he thinks this wouldn’t be such a terrible way to lose it; beneath the fingers and mouths of his three best friends.  
  
“But before…you didn’t even want to kiss me,” Carlos says slowly, peering down his body at Kendall, trying to sound out what it is he thinks about all of this.  
  
Kendall shrugs. “I’m a moron.” Then, because Kendall is all about the implementation of every good plan that the guys have ever had, he reaches across James and yanks Carlos up by the collar of his t-shirt; pulling Carlos into a kiss that he can taste in his lungs, that shakes him all the way down to the core.  
  
James doesn’t seem to mind sharing Kendall with Carlos, and that’s good; it’s a weight off his chest, but he has to ask anyway. When he breaks with Kendall and manages to mumble out the question, James just laughs in open delight and says, “We all belong to each other, so why would I be jealous?”  
  
He emphasizes his point by kissing Carlos square on the mouth, and Carlos feels like maybe this is what drowning is. James isn’t mad now, he isn’t doing this out of revenge, and they’ve got Kendall’s hands on both of their spines, guiding them forwards, and it’s okay, so Carlos kisses him back because he can now. Over his head, he can hear the smack of mouths, like maybe Kendall and Logan are taking the initiative now, kneeling so that they can reach, and then Carlos is being pulled to his knees too, straddling Logan. He’s not sure how exactly he got all the way to the other side of the couch, but James is rolling his hips against Kendall’s like the waves rolling into shore, and Logan is folding his arms around Carlos, his touch light; the things that Carlos feels in his chest heavy, vast as the sky above them.  
  
The night turns into one of the longest that Carlos has ever lived through. Carlos spends a lot of time watching: James’s passion and the way he’s got a sixth sense for figuring out what makes people squirm, or Logan’s assertiveness, and how he’s so totally confident and in control; a totally different person than he is with his clothes on. There is Kendall’s intensity, his focus and the way he wants so much to share something deeper than base pleasure, and there is something more, a thread that connects the three of them and makes their movements less like sex and more like grace, like choreography they’ve known forever but are only now getting to show off. Carlos likes to observe it all unfold in front of him; he likes to watch his friends take what they want from each other with enthusiasm and perfect trust. Kendall does not even blink when Logan whips out a sex toy or James breaks out the mirrors, and James does not mind whether Kendall is too gentle or if Logan leaves bruises, and Logan, as always, is up for anything.  
  
But for the first time there is also _participating_ , and Carlos thinks that’s okay too. When they are tangled up with each other, in each other, Carlos knows that he could live forever like this; with James’s lips on his neck and Logan pressed up against his back and Kendall’s hands over his heart. With his three best friends molded against him, and their eyes on him, and their breath moving in time.  
  
It is all Carlos has ever wanted.


End file.
